


Burning Bridges

by asmaanixx



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU - High School, AU - Modern Setting, M/M, Sexual Assault, domestic sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-13 11:14:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11183952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asmaanixx/pseuds/asmaanixx
Summary: His first kiss was never supposed to be like this. Heck, none of his kisses were ever supposed to go like this. They weren't supposed to hold malice or hate or fear in them. They were supposed to tender, gentle, and soft. Or if things are really heated, to be passionate and wanting and needy. To be full of desire and most importantly love. But never so empty, so hollow. So disgusting and shameful.OR:Lance learns about the horrors that Keith has had to deal with the hard way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I'm writing again after a while and this piece is pretty mehh despite the content.  
> 2\. I'm falling into that self-loathing black hole where I think I'm the world's shittiest writer and I should just give up while I'm at it.  
> 3\. I have started a side blog called theklancecollection.tumblr.com where I'm planning on doing a lot of literary work on Klance. Right now, it's just hosting a bunch of fics that I have read, but I am planning on expanding upon it. If any of you guys are interested, then please feel free to check it out.  
> 4\. Kudos/Comments/Criticisms are greatly appreciated. I say this all the time, but I am one of those writers who need constant feedback in order to feel validated about themselves. It's a bit selfish/greedy/whatever, but considering I have such low self-esteem about myself and my writing, every little comment means a lot.

"Just so you know I charge extra by the hour." Lance teased as he tucked away his brand new chemistry textbook in his orange locker.

"Oh?" Keith shuffled in his spot and gripped the strap of his black Jansport backpack. He paid more attention to the Dudley lock securing the neighboring locker than at the tall boy who was currently speaking to him. "I don't have a lot of money on me right now." He supplied hesitantly, his face reddening in embarrassment.

"That's cool." Lance replied, closing his locker and securing it with a loud click of his lock. "I'm sure we can think of something." He winked.

Keith felt himself go pale. He bit his bottom lip hard so that the other boy couldn't hear the words of protests that were always resting on his lips. He squeezed his fingers into fists so tight that they bled crescent moons into the flesh of his palms. It was an act most preferable to him considering his alternative course of action would be to violently lash out onto other bodies and then receive a beating that hurt ten times worse.

"Hey, you okay there buddy?" Lance placed a hand on Keith's shoulder, which in his defense was an act conducted out of pure innocent concern. Granted he didn't know Keith all too well but even he didn't need to be a genius to know that the boy was in some sort of distress.

If asked, neither boy would be able to adequately answer as to what happened. In one moment they were both fully aware of their surroundings. Keith, had behaved like a humanoid earthquake as he tried to repress all the aggressive and pent up feelings inside of him while Lance had been as cool as a still lake, patiently standing by and waiting for the boy opposite him to reveal his crisis. And the next? Well, it was all a blur. It was as if someone had forcibly removed chunks of their time and had forgotten to replace it with false memories. All they could lay claim to was an empty black canvas.

When they tethered back to the ground, it happened much too slowly for their frustration. Lance found himself sliding back to his feet, the smoothness of the locker's metal and the dents of it making their presence known against his spine. But that's not what made his heart race furiously. It was Keith who did that. The boy standing mere inches away from his face, was letting his hot breath hit Lance's like a furnace. A little smokey taste of the fire that is always blazing within him. Lance noted the way the boy's lips quivered as his hands further increased their grip on Lance's blue t-shirt. His own lips trembled as cool air fanned across the heated flesh of his exposed stomach.

"Keith... what are you-" He squeezed his eyes shut when Keith crashed his lips against his.

Small tears spilled out of Lance's eyes as he winced at the force that was being thrown against him. His lips were being pulled and bitten hard by sharp teeth and his chest was being bruised by incessant minute punches that kept pushing him up against the lockers. Squirming, Lance buckled down and kicked Keith in the stomach, sending the boy tumbling backwards as he coughed and spluttered. Lance gasped and scrambled to gain his balance. He ran a trembling hand over his mouth and pulled it back streaked with blood. His blood.

"What the _FUCK_ is wrong with you!" Lance screamed, spittle mixed with his blood and saliva flying out towards Keith.

"ME?" Keith retorted, outraged. "YOU'RE the one who said..." He stopped as his throat seized up, the words choking him and making it hard for him to breathe.

"What?" Lance whispered in disbelief. Then adding more weight to his voice, he yelled, "When the hell did I ever mention wanting to be...?"

At this Lance paused as his mind scrambled for words to describe what just happened. Kissed? No, it wasn't a kiss because he didn't have a single say in the matter. There was a lot of force... he was assaulted. Yes, he was assaulted. Physically? Yes, he was pushed up against the lockers and had his movements restricted. But there was another realization that was swimming towards him. It came with the promise of making him drown and be scarred and angry for who knew how long.

Lance breathed loudly and in quick successions. His heart was beginning to work in overtime as his mind tried to deal with the repercussions of the assault. The sexual assault. Lance was just sexually assaulted. In the empty corridors of his school. By a boy whom he had been assigned to tutor a few minutes ago. Lance hunched over as he was hit with a tidal wave of emotions. His chest constricted as the knowledge of the assault began to cement itself deep in the trenches of his mind. Even though he wanted otherwise, he knew full well that this aspect of his life was going to become ingrained deep within his bones.

He slid down to the floor, trying to shut down his mind. If he was going to have a breakdown, he wanted it to happen in a place that he felt safe and secure. Not the place where all his nightmares were going to sprout from.

"Lance?" A voice called out to him.

It was deep but distant. Everything around Lance was becoming distant.

"What's going on here?" The voice asked. "Keith?"

Lance lifted his heavy head up. His assailant was still there. Looking at him with wide, teary eyes. It was weird for Lance to see Keith crumple in on himself as his body began to shake with heavy sobs. Anger quickly filled the seated boy. Why was Keith crying? If there's anyone who should be crying, it should be _him. He_ was the one who was attacked after all.

Lance watched as a hand gently reached out to Keith's back and began to soothe him. It was Shiro. Lance couldn't help himself. He raised his knees up to his chin, wrapped his arms around them and began to silently cry. Of course Keith would be the one who gets a helping hand. He is the golden boy of Garrison Academy after all. And with Shiro by his side, he could probably get away with murder if he wanted to.

Lance vaguely heard what Keith said to Shiro. The words were muffled by his cracked voice and ugly sobs. A large part of him wanted Keith to suffer even more. He wanted him to cry and bleed and be bruised for days to come. But he couldn't make him do any of that. At least not with Shiro around. Instead, he held himself closer and cried even more.

He did hear a loud sigh, followed by Shiro's low mumble and then a pair of shuffling feet. Then, a strong hand rested on his arm and a voice, Shiro's voice Lance affirmed, spoke to him. Lance pulled away, sniffling. He didn't want Shiro or Keith or anyone whom he didn't consider family to be anywhere near him right now. He wanted them all to be gone. He wanted to be gone. He wanted this whole incident to be gone and be put behind him. He wanted to reach that part of his life where he could look back at this moment and not feel as if his heart is being ripped to pieces.

"Lance, would you like to come back to my office and talk about this?" Shiro asked, politely and yet cautiously.

Lance hated him right now. He hated the way Shiro was walking around eggshells as if Lance was the real threat here. As if _he_ was the monster that brutally attacked an innocent villager and disrupted the peace and order they were all living in.

"No. I want to go home." Lance spat putting as much venom into his words as he could.

Shiro was taken aback by Lance's tone but he nodded his head in understanding. The moment he was out of Lance's sight, Lance was overridden with guilt and shame. He had never spoken to Shiro in that manner before. Setting aside the fact he was his teacher, Shiro was a person whom Lance looked up to. The man was nothing but kind and thoughtful in regards to his students, often staying behind after school hours to make sure they were getting the adequate amount of support they needed - academic or otherwise. Lance felt horrible for his behavior, but one look at his favorite teacher rubbing Keith's back in soothing gestures, knotted something ugly in his belly.

Swallowing and forcing the vile feeling down his throat, Lance stood up on wobbly knees. He grabbed his bag and called his brother to pick him up. It was a slow walk to the front lobby despite the short distance but he used the time to remove himself from the incident. It didn't go too well since he was faced with the onslaught of extreme emotions. Panic, upon feeling himself be pushed up against the lockers; fear, as he felt a strong pressure between his knees and sharp teeth bite and pull on his lips. A shocking numbness was at the forefront of it all as he remembered the metallic taste of his blood, and the realization of what happened sinking into him like fallen dead leaves piling upon each other into one congealed mush on muddy grounds.

"Hey there hotshot." His older brother greeted him with a jovial smile.

"Hey." Lance mumbled back, quietly clicking his seat belt into place.

"You feeling okay?" Alejandro asked, fretting about his brother's uncharacteristic silence.

"No. Feeling sick." Lance muttered back, resting his head against the cool window. He watched rest of the world pass by, chattering, completely undisturbed by the cracks that had formed in his innocence.

"Don't you worry kiddo." Alejandro spoke as he drove. "Mom will make you her ever famous chicken noodle soup and you will be better in no time."

Lance wished for his brother's words to be true.

* * *

It was a little over ten and Lance was curled up in his bed. His soft, midnight blue blanket was clutched tightly in his fingers, allowing him just enough room to peek out over the edges of the cloth. He eyed the half eaten bowl of chicken noodle soup that was resting on his desk. It was only half eaten because his mother had sat down beside him, talking about her day while she fed him. He knew it was her way of trying to gauge what was wrong with him but no matter how many chances she gave him, Lance couldn't find it in himself to bringing up the incident. The entire situation was confusing for him because he wanted to tell her what happened. He wanted to tell her how he was attacked, and assaulted and felt betrayed by his favorite teacher. He wanted to tell her how his heart broke and now he's living with ice in his veins that is making his entire body move in slow motion. Most importantly, he just wants to tell her how he wants to be a part of the fast moving world again. He doesn't want to feel left behind and find himself be stuck in this one moment playing on a constant loop.

That is why he's utterly confused as to why he didn't say anything to his mom. He briefly wondered if it was because he was afraid of it all becoming real. Sure, Shiro had arrived just shortly after the scene, but it's not like he knew everything that had happened. He only knows what Keith had told him and who knew what jacked up bullshit that little wanker told the guy.

Lance curled his fingers around the corner of his pillow.

Shiro doesn't know about how scared Lance was when he was being pressed up against the lockers or about how terrified he was at seeing his own blood dripping down on his hands. No body knew about how long his lips had tingled and just felt so wrong when he would run his tongue over his ripped skin. Heck, Lance didn't even want to admit it to himself but for the better part of his afternoon, he wanted to be swallowed by a sink hole or at the very least move away to somewhere far, far away.

Lance curled up into a tighter ball and let out a shaky breath, blinking slowly. 

He briefly wonders if he's overreacting about the whole situation. After all, it was just a kiss. It's not like he had been roofied and taken full advantage of. But... the fact of the matter remains that he didn't want it. He didn't want to be kissed by Keith or any body for that matter. A part of his mind tells him to be grateful that it was just a kiss and nothing more while another part tells him to feel ashamed. To be thoroughly embarrassed over the fact that he had let someone, another  _boy_ to take him by surprise in such a heinous manner. If he couldn't pull off someone as tiny as Keith off of him then what chance does he have against a bigger guy? Or woman? Person? Next year he would be off to college, and everyone knows what living on res is like. What if somebody slips something into his drink and he gets knocked out and he can't protect himself? What if he's invited to a party and things get out of hand? Lance likes to think he can handle himself in social gatherings, but he's never really been to frat parties or the like.

His eyes widen and breathing slows.

What if this was just a taste of what's to come? What if he's destined to have boys, men, people like Keith in his life now? Lance had always thought of himself as being good-looking. Pretty, even. He thoroughly enjoyed the compliments he would get from his aunts and to a degree, even the jealous remarks from the girls in his classes. He's not going to lie, he enjoyed indulging in beautifying himself. The rigorous skin care routines before falling asleep, or making sure that every single hair on his body (especially his face) was set in place - they had helped him in learning more about his body and becoming more in tune with it. Most importantly, it had helped him to bond better with his sisters. He wouldn't give up the hours standing before the mirror and applying make up or doing each other's hair for anything. But right now, as he's laying in the pitch darkness of his room, he wonders if he attracted the wrong kind of attention. He wanted to be beautiful and have people appreciate his looks, but he didn't want to be devoured by them. He didn't want to be objectified or have his name or image be sullied for whatever perverse reason they desired.

Lance felt sick. The combination of his ugly thoughts and the smell of the cold chicken and spices lingering in the room made his stomach turn violently.

He shut his eyes and gripped the pillow once more, taking in slow and steady breaths to calm himself. In doing so, he licked his lips and was hit by a disturbing thought that struck him like a lightening bolt.

That was his first kiss.

Keith was the first person to place his lips against his and use them for pleasure. He was the first to lick them, suck them and bite them.

"No." Lance whispered, horrified.

His first kiss was never supposed to be like this. Heck, none of his kisses were ever supposed to go like this. They weren't supposed to hold malice or hate or fear in them. They were supposed to tender, gentle, and soft. Or if things are really heated, to be passionate and wanting and needy. To be full of desire and most importantly love. But never so empty, so hollow. So disgusting and shameful.

Lance grit his teeth, raking his fingers against the cloth of his pillow.

He stole it. Keith stole his first kiss. He forcibly took possession of it and corrupted it into something so vile that no matter how hard Lance tried, he would never be able to gain back the purity it was to hold.

Lance hated him. He hated him so much for doing this and he hated the fact that he didn't know  _why_ it was done in the first place even more.

He shot out of bed and without a further thought, put on his shoes, quietly opened his window and using the tree branch, climbed down and ran. He ran and ran and ran. Lance didn't know how he knew where to go but he pulled up a vague address that was given to him many, many years ago from a wide-eyed boy who had recently moved to the neighborhood and was looking for some new friends. As he ran towards that place, he wasn't sure who he was going to meet or who he was going as. When the door opens will he meet the same violet pupils that shone like twinkling stars and held the secrets to the universe? Or would he meet a pair of blazing embers that burned the bridge to his sheltered future?

With gasping breaths, he rang the bell in quick successions. Something crashed inside and loud shouts were thrown as a directive. Lance furrowed his brows. He felt his fingers go cold and his blood rush down. The thought of his arrival being a huge mistake flitted across his mind.

The door creaked open, bathing the front porch with an orange light.

"What do you want?" The man standing in the doorway shouted.

Lance, wide-eyed and terrified, gulped and took a step back. His jaw open and closed but no words came out. He felt so small standing before the burly man in the doorway. Clad in a white red-stained tank top, loosely hung jeans, and a belt in hand, something just wasn't right. Lance scrutinized the stain and horrible idea came to mind as he wondered if it was blood. He looked back up and gasped in fear. The expression  on the man, while terrifying before, was absolutely demonic right now. His skin all red, his body trembling in anger - Lance feared for his life.

He took a step back and heard a low growl emit from the man. He took another step and another and thought of something to say so that he wouldn't be attacked when he heard a  _clang!_ The big man dropped to his knees. Touching the back of his head, he saw his hand completely soaked in blood. He fell forward and Lance looked up to see Keith, panting and holding a frying pan in hand. He gave Lance one look, devoid of any emotion save a fierce determination. He threw the pan, slung a bag over his shoulder and walked over the still body.

He stood before Lance in silence, as if he was contemplating something. Then, upon reaching his conclusion, he grabbed Lance's hand and ran.


	2. Chapter 2

Lance wasn't entirely sure as to how long they had been running. Five minutes? Ten? It surely felt longer than that but it's not like he would know any better. Ever since Keith had grabbed his hand and begun his sprinting spree, the smaller boy had refused to reduce his speed. Lance had occasionally looked over his shoulder to ensure he wasn't being chased down by a gang of burly men, and he would always turn back around relieved as they weren't. That alleviation, however, did nothing to quell the sense of dread and fear that had settled like cement in the pits of his stomach. The fact that Keith was running for so long surely meant he was afraid of being caught, and the fact that he had taken Lance with him had to mean that he had feared Lance's life being in danger as well.

Lance thought back to the man Keith had assaulted before their escape. He tried to give an identity to the face but he wasn't able to. He didn't remember the man from his childhood so Lance chalked it up to a new appearance in Keith's life. Perhaps he was an acquaintance of his father's? No, that's not right. Lance couldn't remember much about Keith's dad but from whatever lingering memories that did remain, Lance remembered him as being a kind man. More specifically, he remembered the taste of vanilla ice-cream. Yeah, that was more like it. Vanilla ice-cream, the kind that is bought from an ice-cream truck after spending hours playing at the park underneath a hot and blazing sun. If Lance thought hard enough, he could feel the blisters on his palms from swinging on the monkey bars, and the broken-toothed smiles Keith would give him when he would catch Lance in a game of frozen tag. He remembered a man coming to the park still dressed in a full suit and a briefcase by his side only to have Keith run up to the man yelling, "Papa!" It was in those moments that Lance would remember Keith being his happiest. His face would be split into a grin that stretched from ear to ear, and his eyes simply would not stop sparkling.

It was weird now that he thought about it, but in those moments Lance would feel jealous. He's not too sure why since he has a dad of his own whom he loved very much. He supposes it was a feeling of being uncomfortable of having to intrude upon what was obviously a private moment between father and son but he's not exactly sure. Of his own two parents, Lance found himself to be much closer to his mother rather than his father. That's not to say his dad neglected them by any means. It was actually quite the opposite. It's just that when he was younger, his dad had to work two jobs, sometimes three just to be able to pay the bills and earn enough money to save up for everyone's tuition fees. His mom, who had been studying at the time, had offered to pause her studies so that she can help out a bit with the finances, but his father had been strictly against it.

When Lance had questioned him as to why he didn't let her, he had said, "I know your mother too well. If she had dropped her studies and gained a menial job, she would have never let go of it finding one reason or another to hold on to it. 'We need money for Alejandro's tuition. We need to save up for Allieta's quinceanera.' Or 'Lance has been asking for that play station for a while. I was thinking of gifting it for his birthday.'" His dad had raised a knowing brow, making Lance slink down in his seat, hiding his face in his hoodie.

His dad hadn't been wrong. His mom simply was the type of woman to finish a task to its completion. That menial job would have been treated the same way. She would have never let go of it until she had been completely satisfied that her kids were now no longer financially dependent on them. It would have been only then that she would have considered going back to her studies. If she were up to it. So in the long run, it was his father who bore the excruciating long hours and days of not seeing his children. He may have had his qualms and gripes, but in the end it all turned out okay and now he couldn't have been a happier man.

As they made a sharp right, Lance wondered as to where Keith's dad was. There was no way that he would have been allowed in the house if Keith's dad had been on the scene. Lance's blood went cold as a morbid thought raced through his mind. Was he dead? Lance recollected the image of the burly man. He had been big enough to block the entire entrance way, but what had intimidated Lance the most had been his appearance. Clad in a pair of faded blue jeans, and a white tank top, the man had looked like he had been living in that home for a while now. There had been something in his hand, and he had been panting... almost like he had been interrupted in a strenuous task. What was in his hand? His jeans... they were hung low. His feet, they were bare. No socks, or shoes but the ankles had been pooled around by some folds of the jeans. Lance tried harder and he remembered something being off. Was it the eyes? They had been impatient and kind of annoyed on seeing Lance on his doorstep. He had wanted him to go away and Lance had been more than eager to be gone, but he had done a quick sweep of the man and that's when something had changed. The eyes had become menacing, dangerous even. The air had been charged with fear and Lance had wanted to scramble away even if it had meant he had to crawl to do so. But what was it that had changed his mood so drastically?

Lance looked at the hand that was holding onto him so tightly. The arm, which would occasionally be illuminated by an orange light emanating from the overhead street lights, revealed something ugly. There were various types of bruises littering the flesh. There was a large circular one that was in a shade of a deep purple, followed by some smaller red ones. Lance couldn't get a good look of them since they trailed away to the underside of his arm, but it had been enough to get Lance's mind blaring red sirens.

It was almost like a switch had been turned off in his head and everything had become clear. The man in the doorway, standing in nothing but a white blood-stained tank top and jeans hung low, buttoned but his zipper only half-closed. Keith, attacking the man, his hair disheveled, and clad in nothing but his t-shirt, shorts and boots. With a bag containing essential items slung over his shoulder, Keith looking at Lance, his lips red and swollen, glistening with blood and spit. The skin on his cheeks cracked and a big bruise forming around his left eye. Keith, grabbing Lance's hand for reasons unknown and Lance letting him because he wanted answers.

Only, now he had gotten them and Lance wished he hadn't.


	3. Chapter 3

"Keith." Lance called out, halting in his steps and in effect, stopping Keith as well.

The boy looked behind him, his hand still in Lance's, but held at an arm's length apart.

"What?" He snapped.

"Where are we going?" Lance asked in a steady voice despite his heavy breathing.

"Does it matter?" He snapped once again, turning around to make his departure but was stopped by Lance.

"Of course it does! I have to get back home and I have no idea where I am." Lance resisted.

Keith dropped his hand. With the warmth gone from his palm, Lance realized the impact of his words. Lance has a home to go back to. He has family, people who will be frantically wondering where he was right now. But Keith? Who does Keith have? A feeling of guilt tugged at his heart and Lance tried to push it away but he simply couldn't. He couldn't bring up all the anger and hate that he had felt for the boy earlier in the day. All he could feel right now was sorry. But that feeling alone made him feel wrong. He shouldn't have to feel sorry for Keith and excuse away his actions. Keith's abuse is horrible but that didn't give him the right to treat Lance like that.

"I'm sorry." Lance looked up and stared at the mullet adorning Keith's head. "I didn't think... I'll get you to the major intersections. You'll have to find your way back from there."

"What? No." Lance breathed out. "You have to come back with me. Look, I... I don't know everything that happened to you but from what I do know... it wasn't any good and because of that I can't leave you alone here. You have to come back with me."

"Yeah right." He scoffed, making Lance brace himself in defense. "What can _you_ even do?"

" _Something._ And whatever it is, it sure as hell will beat running away from my problems."

Keith narrowed his eyes and stared at Lance. "Like you did today?"

Lance swallowed. He knew Keith was purposely going for the jugular so that Lance would let him go. Despite it, Lance gave him a chance. If Keith still refused the help, it would be on him. At least Lance would be able to sleep well at night knowing that he offered to help him out.

"Are you saying you're proud of what you did today?" Lance gritted, taking a step toward Keith. A hint of the earlier anger resurfaced in his voice. "Hmm? Are you proud of attacking me? Of using me against my will?"

"Shut up." Keith gritted, his fingers curling into fists while hot tears burned at the rims of his eyes.

"Why? You're accusing me of running away and yet cannot dare to face what I was running from. Should I tell you what I was running from? Whom I was running away from?" He took a few more steps closer. "I was running away from my sexual assaulter. I was running away from the _monster_ who had stolen my first kiss! I was running away from the swirling mess of confusion, anger and hatred, of disgust and sickness, because I couldn't understand why a boy whom I had once called my best friend would hurt me so bad." Lance cried. "So yeah, I ran away. I ran away from you and then I ran right back to you because I wanted to know what the _fuck_  went on in that sick brain of yours that made you think it would be okay to hurt me like that. And then I ran again, this time _with_  you because we were both scared for our lives. I ran _with_  you because for some stupid reason I trusted myself with _you_  - the boy who hurt me so badly earlier in the day. And from the looks of it, it looks like you have no intention of stopping and if that's the case, then I'm sorry but I can't. I can't run for the rest of my life. I wanted answers, and I got them. If you want help, I can offer you whatever I can but if you don't want it then say your goodbyes and leave because I'm sorry but I can't deal with this. I know that what you went through was horrible and there is no way that I can ever understand what you've gone through but what you put me through wasn't right. I can't, I can't... there is something so broken inside of me right now and I need time to deal with it."

With his head hung low, Lance took a few steps back, wiping his nose and eyes with the back of his sleeves.

In a quiet voice, he heard Keith speak, "At least there's something left in you to break."

Lance looked up once more and saw the profile of the boy standing before him. It was pale, and sunken. The grand moon hanging overhead illuminated the bruises on Keith's face in a surreal manner. A truly horrible beauty.

"Walk back that way," Keith pointed behind Lance. "You'll reach a bus stop. Take the 191 bus and you'll reach home."

When Lance looked back, Keith was already taking his path that led him into the Atlas woods. For a brief moment he contemplated on whether he should follow the boy. He had taken merely one step forward when he pulled his feet back. He turned around and walked in the opposite direction. 

* * *

The door bell rang and both the adults situated around the kitchen table stood up. Mrs. Fuentes Castilla, faster of the two, reached the door first and swung it open, expecting to see her son. To her horror, there was a police officer. Blood drained from her face and hands as morbid thoughts hit her like cannon balls. Instantly, images of the police officer shaking his head, relaying a message of condolences and seeing her dead child placed upon a cold metal slab came to her mind. The police officer's lips moved but she couldn't make out the words coming out of his mouth. Tears simply streaked down her cheeks as all she could see was her dead baby.

"Mama." Lance yelled, stepping out from behind the officer and closing the distance with quick strides.

He wrapped her body with his tight embrace and let hot tears squeeze through his closed lids. Loud sobs racked through her body as she finally hugged him back, allowing her brain and heart to be comforted upon seeing her child safe at home, in her arms. Mr. Fuentes Castilla bid the officer goodbye with a strong shake of the hands, and locked the doors. He patted Lance on the back, furious for the hell he put them to, but also relieved that he was home.

Then, Lance did something he didn't quite do so often. He hugged his father. He hugged him and he cried and he told him how much he loved and how thankful he was to have him as a father. Of course the two adults were highly confused by the sudden proclamations, but they had welcomed them nonetheless.

Mr. Fuentes Castilla slowly pulled away with an awkward chuckle, stating he should go call Alejandro and Allieta who were out on the streets looking for him. Lance nodded, wiping at his face again and let his mom lead him up to his bed where he was tucked in and kissed on the forehead. He wasn't too surprised when an extra mattress was pulled in which was swiftly claimed by his three younger siblings, and his mother. He chuckled at his mom swatting away at the twins as they had started to interrogate Lance's whereabouts. He smiled softly and closed his eyes as his mom began to narrate a story from her childhood.

His dreams were layered with cool ocean breezes, the humidity of a blazing sun, and the refreshing reliefs brought upon by freshly cracked coconut water. But lingering just on the outskirts of his visions is an inky cloud that is seemingly staring at him. When he shifted his attention to it, Lance saw nothing. He tried going back to his former happy, carefree attitude but he can't. He kept looking back at the space that was formerly occupied by the inky cloud as if it would somehow return. The more it didn't, the greater Lance's feeling of despair and regret grew.

When he woke up it was after a long night of running in an unknown forest from a great purple monster that wanted to cage him, or at the very worst, murder him.


End file.
